Page 21 of Trick or Heat

I was finally able to message our professors and coach about going on heat leave. Unfortunately, Elsie’s laptop is padlocked, so we’re not sure how to get word out for her. Not to mention, she’ll have to drink some soup instead of a sandwich because I couldn’t find the fucking butter knives.

When I walk back into her bedroom, Elsie is snoring softly on DJ’s chest. He watches her with stars in his eyes. I’ve never seen the bastard so fucking happy, and he’s the one that shot the winning goal to the state championship last year.

“I got her some soup,” I whisper, making my presence known.

Brodie looks up from his spot at the end of the bed. “I thought you were making her something more tangible.”

I shrug. “I can’t find everything I need,” I say, but I’m not going to tell him what. I’m kind of embarrassed that I can’t navigate her kitchen.

That same scent from before permeates once again. When I first entered her room earlier today and stood over the bed, I detected it. It was the slightest remnant, hardly there at all, but its presence had me inhaling for any amount of clarity I could get, the body of it covered by so much sugar and apple that I couldn’t figure out what it was.

If Brodie or DJ can scent it, they don’t let on. They just keep their focus on Elsie, caressing and scenting and purring. Their chests have been in a constant rumble since we first stepped foot in this room, and I don’t think they’re going to stop anytime soon.

I hold the cup of warm soup and reach out to hand it to DJ, but he shakes his head.

“DJ, take it,” I say.

“I want to let her sleep,” he argues.

I grit my teeth. “But she needs to eat.”

“She needs rest.”

Brodie’s chest erupts in a warning growl. “Knock it off,” he whispers sternly before meeting DJ’s eyes. “She’s been asleep for a little over an hour and a half. She needs food.”

My pack mate huffs, but ultimately concedes, bowing his head in submission. “Okay, Alpha.”

He sits up, gently bringing her with him. She stirs at the movement, her eyes fluttering open.

“Omega, we have some soup for you,” DJ tells her.

She hums slightly, acknowledging his statement without responding as she rubs her eyes. Her scent pours out rapidly in her awakened state, her body rearing up for more grueling hours.

I dig my nails into my thighs, reining in my control. Her scent was heavenly when I first scented her, but now it’s colossal. My entire body is on edge, and if Brodie and DJ weren’t here to help me, I would be worried about falling headfirst into rut.

This is my scent match. She is as beautiful as her scent is, her skin soft and her lips perfect. Everything about her face looks like a Renaissance painting come to life.

I may be having the time of my life being an alpha that she trusts to look after her, but I can’t wait for this heat to be over so I can know more about her. I want to know what her creative outlet is, what her favorite fruit is, what her morning routine looks like.

I want to know everything about her, inside and out.

After a few moments, Elsie seems to become slightly more alert. I expect DJ to hand her the soup, but instead he picks up the spoon himself and directs the concoction toward her. She looks at it, and for half a second, I’m terrified she’s going to reject it before her lips wrap around the spoon. She hums happily and waits for another helping.

Brodie and I watch in fascination as DJ feeds her; they’re both completely content in the dynamic, enjoying the quiet moment together. My eyes pinch, water sprouting unexpectedly.

Who knew I would get so emotional over something so small? Seeing my pack mate feed our scent match, making her happy? It’s so bizarre.

The serenity doesn’t last though. After a few spoonfuls, Elsie’s face pinches with pain, but instead of her hand going to her stomach like I expect, it goes to her chest and rests right above her heart.

“Are you okay, Omega?” I ask, watching her closely.

She shakes her head, her breathing becoming heavy. “Casey.”

We all look at each other, unsure of what we just heard. Brodie scoots closer and puts a supporting hand on her arm but she shakes it off.

“Casey,” she repeats. “I need Casey. Casey.”

DJ looks to me. “What the hell is a Case-C?”